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You ever get so plastered that you wake up the next morning with a mystery bruise and a receipt for a unicycle purchase? No? Just me? I mean, I don't remember buying a unicycle, but my credit card statement insists that I did. Now, I'm not saying I'm an impulsive drunk, but apparently, under the influence, I believe I can join the circus. Forget tightrope walking; I'm all about tipsy unicycling.
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Have you ever tried to retrace your steps after a night of heavy drinking? It's like being a drunken detective on a mission to solve the mystery of your own bad decisions. I found a receipt for a karaoke bar, a half-eaten burrito in my pocket, and a business card for a pet psychic. Apparently, I not only sing like a cat but also consult psychics for career advice when I'm plastered. Maybe I should hire a detective to follow my drunk self around and report back the next morning.
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So, last night, I decided to try my hand at cooking after a few too many drinks. I thought I was on a culinary journey, but in reality, it was more like a culinary disaster. I mistook salt for sugar and ended up with the sweetest spaghetti ever. I proudly served it to my friends, who took one bite and immediately reached for their water glasses. They asked if it was a new fusion dish—Italian-dessert fusion, I guess. I call it "Drunken Chef's Delight.
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You know you're truly plastered when you start having those deep, existential thoughts. The other night, I was staring at a wall, contemplating the meaning of life. I came to a profound realization that the wall was just a metaphor for the barriers we build in our own minds. My friends, however, weren't as impressed with my philosophical breakthrough, especially since it happened in the bathroom, and they needed to use it.
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